


Already perfect

by galforce (boxofwonder)



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: And with extremely sapphic undertones, Character Study, Consider this my A support for them, F/F, Hurt/Comfort, Let girls fuck up and learn from it, Mutual unreqited pining, Pre-Timeskip, That makeover scene in every movie but reversed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-18
Updated: 2019-11-18
Packaged: 2021-02-12 22:14:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21483685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/boxofwonder/pseuds/galforce
Summary: Dorothea is excited to give Ingrid the make-over of a lifetime - it never crosses her mind that Ingrid may not feel the same way.Mistakes are made, and they are mended.
Relationships: Dorothea Arnault/Ingrid Brandl Galatea
Comments: 6
Kudos: 98





	Already perfect

**Author's Note:**

> (wheezes) It may take me a trillion years, but I WILL write Dorothea Arnault loving every girl. And especially Ingrid.

Dorothea clapped her hands together, more than just pleased with her work. The coal around her eye made Ingrid’s gorgeous eyes shine that much brighter, the powder making her skin look softer while the blush made her cheeks glow. She looked nothing short of a saint, gracing them from upon the heavens. Fit to take the stage, or hearts - more of them anyways. “You are so beautiful,” Dorothea sighed, clutching her chest. Ingrid’s face moved as if to scrunch up, but Dorothea was quick to shush her. “A-a-ah! No movement yet. Let the coal settle first. Oh, I cannot wait for you to look into the mirror … only lip tint left now!”

She clapped her hands in excitement and turned to head to her dresser. All these products she had worked so hard for, paid with her own salary when she had begun to be able to think of something beyond survival. Something other than food.

These little tinctures and tins, bottles and brushes had become her armour, her shield. Beneath them she hid the scrappy girl who knew she would never amount to anything. Every flawed inch of her disappeared, leaving only the best, making it easier to smile, to show the world what it wished to see, to carry on. 

Dorothea picked the shade for Ingrid’s lips with utter care, smiling to herself. Getting to share this with Ingrid, and being the first one to show her how incredible make-up could feel? It made her heart sing. 

She grasped a lovely shade of light red, and turned at a sound behind her. “Did I not tell you to -” she began to chide, voice cutting off when she saw that Ingrid’s beautiful face was scrunched in what - what was obviously her friend fighting tears. “Ingrid?!”

“I can’t do it anymore!” Ingrid gasped, strangled, and burst into sobs, burying her lovely face in her hands. Her shoulders jumped and shook, but no more sound escaped her. It was curious to see they were one and the same in that - had mastered the art of crying without sound, as not to be seen and found weak. “I’m sorry,” she wheezed, and then she said nothing, just sat there completely still, tension in every inch of her body.

Dorothea rushed over without thought. “Do what? What is it?” She reached out without thought, cradling Ingrid in her arms and pulling her against her body. Stroked her long, beautiful hair. “Ingrid, what is it? You can tell me anything. Is it another suitor? Because I will protect you again if I must, I will have words with your father -”

“Why can’t you accept me as I am?!” Ingrid blurted, yanking herself harshly away from Dorothea’s touch. She toppled backwards and sprawled over Dorothea’s bed, scrambling to sit and bring distance between them. Tears streamed down her face, smudging the coal so carefully applied, and all the rest of Dorothea’s work. 

“What - whatever do you mean?” she asked, voice shaking. Ingrid’s pain and anger were painted all over her face, so honest and intense. Just a moment before all had been - had been well. 

“You are the exact same as Mercedes, or every other girl around! You always want to slather my face with your strange -  _ paints _ ! As if you cannot stand to look upon me! When’s the last time everyone asked Felix or Sylvain to be slathered in this and finally see the light?!”

Dorothea did not know what to say, or do. She had never seen Ingrid so visibly upset before, and the sheer intensity of it shocked her.

Ingrid wasn’t being dramatic - this had hurt her, and she had misunderstood Dorothea’s intentions completely, to a point where she assumed Dorothea did not find her the most striking girl in the world. “It is not - I - Ingrid! You are beautiful!”

“I do not care to be beautiful!” Ingrid yelled, scrambling to her feet, shaking all over. “I do not care for it, Dorothea! Why is it so important to be beautiful?! Why isn’t it enough that I strive to be valiant, gallant, to serve my king, why isn’t it enough that I know to care for a lance, that I can protect who I care about?! Why doesn’t that matter for once?!” She sniffled, wiping at her cheeks, the coal streaking and streaking. Her face was a mess, now, but an honest one, at least. 

“I -” Dorothea began, no adequate words to finish that sentence. She had not known. Ingrid must have kept all these feelings inside her for so long, unspoken and untouched, for them to explode forwards with such ferocity.

“These paints, the, the frilly dresses and whatever! It’s all about being dolled up to find some husband and hang off his arm one day,” Ingrid wept, arms wrapped tightly around herself. “And I thought if I just skipped that, maybe, I’d have more time to just  _ be me _ , but even the girls - even you want to see me with paste all over me, hiding my true face -”

“You are not hiding your true face. You are - you are enhancing what is already there,” Dorothea insisted, because it wasn’t like that - not entirely! There was power in choosing what to show the world -

“Well, what is there should be enough!” Ingrid spat back, and a terrible sob shook her body again. “Goddess! Listen to me, I have gone mad!” She laughed, and it sounded terribly painful. “But I just - I try, but I can’t, I can’t do it. I won’t. Why would I? I will marry, I will never be a knight, and isn’t that enough sacrifice? Must I do this, as well? Where does it end, Dorothea?”

Her despair was so sharp it cut Dorothea as well, who walked over and wrapped her arms around Ingrid. For a moment, her friend tensed, and Dorothea feared to be shoved away again - but then Ingrid buried her face at her shoulder and held on tightly, leaning into it. Holding on as if Dorothea was the only stable place in the world. “I didn’t know,” Dorothea said helplessly, stroking Ingrid’s hair. Her gorgeous, soft hair. “I am so sorry. I didn’t know.”

Ingrid wept too much to reply, but she did not pull away, and so Dorothea leaned her cheek against her hair. “Oh, Ingrid. You don’t have to … it is freedom, to me. The power to choose what to show the world. The power to enhance myself, the power to … be alluring, or seem innocent, or both at once depending on the colours I choose. It is freedom, to me. I didn’t realise it’d be a prison for you … I didn’t ... “ She could not say she had not known, because Ingrid had told her. Time and time again, she had. “I should have listened to you.”

“You should have,” Ingrid said, her voice a wreck, but her resolve clear. Still, she did not sound angry. “I thought maybe if it was you … showing me … I would finally see the light. Be girly, and feel alright about … all of it. Finally.” 

“All of it?” Dorothea asked softly, still stroking Ingrid’s hair, who was quiet for a while, but Dorothea gave her the time she needed to decide whether she wanted to say it. 

“Dresses. Marriage. Ch-children …” She shuddered in Dorothea’s arms. “Being … soft. There’s so much that’s expected! Make-up, and perfumes, and knowing about flowers and teas … gossip! It’s like it’s a language I’ve never spoken, but everyone expects me to. Like a home I’ve never fit, but everyone insists it’s where I should be. And I … I wait for it, and I try, Dorothea, I try. But I’ve never fit, and I never will, and I -” Her voice broke in her despair.

But all Dorothea could do was cup her cheeks and pull away, look at her face, makeup smeared and messy and her eyes so green and bright. She was so beautiful, so true, and how could she think there was anything else she had to be?

How could Dorothea have made her feel like that was the case?

“But why is that such a bad thing?” she asked softly.

“Excuse me?!”

“You heard me. Why is it so bad that you are different?”

“Because I should be like - like you! I should enjoy looking for a husband, I should know how to … to flirt, or make myself look like a goddess, or, or - !” 

It wasn’t exactly a joy, looking for a husband. But Dorothea didn’t want to make this about herself and her problems. Ingrid deserved better than that. “You’re Ingrid. Those expectations are stupid anyways. Look at anyone around us! Does Edie look like the type of girl to you who bows to such stupid standards?”

“N-no,” Ingrid muttered, shuddering to think of the short girl and her devilish axe in the mock battle. 

“And what about Marianne? She may be as demure as women are expected to be, but the other day I saw her drenched in blood after helping a horse give birth. She was utterly covered in grime, and I have never seen a sight more beautiful than her smile in that moment. Take all the ladies around you who aren’t that, and would you change a thing about them?”

“N-no,” Ingrid insisted, trying to look away. 

Dorothea squeezed her cheeks. “Then why would you change  _ you  _ when you are so beautiful?” And she did not give her a moment to protest. “And by that I mean  _ all  _ of you. I don’t mean your face, though I have told you before I would pounce if you’d allow me, I mean your very heart. Your ideals, and your drive, and your passion. All of you, Ingrid. Your vice and your virtue. I know I may seem shallow, but don’t disrespect me by buying into that, okay?”

“Okay,” Ingrid said softly, her expression now … Dorothea scarcely had a word for it. It did make her want to lean in and claim that wondrous little smile, taste its sweetness, make Ingrid flush. But there was no point to it if it wouldn’t make Ingrid happy. “Okay, Dorothea … I - thank you. And I - I do know better.”

“Nothing for.” She squeezed her cheeks one last time before letting go. “I … really am sorry. I got so caught up in my excitement, I never stopped to consider it could mean something entirely different to you …”

Ingrid wiped at her wet cheeks, smearing more black. “It’s - fine … I mean, I made it clear now, haven’t I?” She laughed weakly.

Dorothea looked at her, at what was left of the makeup. “Ingrid … would you allow me to take it off?”

“Huh? Oh, that’s fine! I can do it myself. I already put you through all the hassle only to yell at you cry it right off …”

“No, Ingrid, please.” Dorothea pursed her lips. “I wanted to show you the kind of freedom I feel, but I made you feel terrible. If at least I get to free you … then I’d feel better about treating you that way. Would you allow me my selfish wish?”

Ingrid gave her a small smile, and it made Dorothea’s heart ache, ache, ache. “It is not so selfish. Okay, do go ahead. At least it will save me a lot of teasing from the boys …”

So Dorothea prepared gentle soap and a small basin with water, a cloth. She put it onto the table that had held all the make-up carefully chosen for Ingrid. 

“Close your eyes,” Dorothea said, her voice soft with having seen a whole new side of Ingrid, knowing her better and only adoring her more. 

And Ingrid exhaled, and she did, her fingers clenched tightly in her trousers. Dorothea allowed herself to brush her fingertips along Ingrid’s tense knuckles, skin prickling at the contact, her heart stumbling.

What a fool she was, to fall for a woman who would never - no, no matter. This was not the moment for it. “Relax. I promise, I will only take it all off. And I will be gentle.”

Dorothea did not let her hand linger. Ingrid had made her lack of interest very clear, and well … thinking her words anything other than absolute had gotten them here. Had made Ingrid cry with frustration and rage. Had made her fear she wasn’t enough, as magnificent as she was. 

Ingrid’s hands, for what it was worth, had relaxed in their death grip. Dorothea smiled softly, and she dabbed the cloth into the warmed water. “Perfect. Now, let me free you from looking like an opera star stumbled right into the rain.”

“Oh, please,” Ingrid said, chuckling. 

“Though that  _ is  _ quite the dramatic look,” Dorothea allowed, gently wiping at her cheek and taking away the smudged black, the cream hiding blemishes, the powder making her cheeks rosy. All of it. The air between them was light, relaxed, and with every breath more it felt like Ingrid relaxed more, felt at home in her own skin again.

Seeing it now, it was plain as day. Dorothea had been such a fool not to realise before.

“You’re really beautiful, you know,” she breathed, dabbing carefully at Ingrid’s brow. Her features twisted in answer, scrunched up, and Dorothea wished she could smooth them with her fingertips. 

“Dorothea, you don’t -” 

“I mean like this,” she said, freeing Ingrid’s face little by little, leaving her skin in its natural state, reddened by embarrassment at the attention, a couple stray, stubborn freckles revealed by the sun in Garreg Mach that would have never shown in Farghus. A slight scar at the edge of her left brow, a small blemish on her forehead. Every inch of her, Ingrid Brandl Galatea, true and untamed. “As you are, Ingrid. You are absolutely breathtaking.”

“Do not mock me,” Ingrid said, voice wavering. There was no anger in her voice, only uncertainty.

“I am not.” Dorothea dipped the cloth back in water, working her way down Ingrid’s temple to her other cheek. To her lips. “I never want you to think that I look upon you and see anything less than perfection.” 

“D-Dorothea -”

Dorothea hummed, entirely pleased with herself. Ingrid’s cheeks were flushed a deeper red than the powder had given her, and it went all the way to the tips of her ears poking through her hair. “The one you lose your heart to one day will be fortunate. And I will be by your side and make absolutely certain you will not give in to anything but absolute love.” Dorothea lowered the cloth, letting it drift into the water. She picked up a towel and tried not to think of herself ready to do just that, to marry for money and comfort, for safety. But at least Dorothea had herself in mind - the thought of Ingrid doing the same for  _ someone else _ was heartbreaking.

And the thought of some rich noble man looking upon her and making her feel like she was not enough, because she was a whirlwind whose strengths did not match up with expectations for women … 

Gently, she dried Ingrid’s skin, whose lids fluttered, lips opened and closed without making a sound. She looked so vulnerable in that moment, and Dorothea swore she would protect her Ingrid from any fella who had not her best interest at heart, who knew not how blessed he was to possess the fortune, the looks, the character to snatch the heart of a woman like her. “There,” Dorothea said, her voice heavy with her thoughts, and she was quick to correct it, sound lighter. “All done.”

Ingrid opened her eyes again, their green so deep without any coal around them, already so stunning. Her hair was messy from training, her hands calloused from it, her heart full of virtue and honour. She was the dreamiest knight in all the monastery, and not even aware of it. 

“I don’t know if I’ll ever lose my heart,” Ingrid said, looking at her, and then casting her gaze away. “Or … if I will, but for someone I can’t actually consider as a match … that would let my father live his life in comfort.”

Dorothea wanted to sink to her knees and lay her head in Ingrid’s lap. She wanted to wind her arms around her waist and hold on, close her eyes and tell Ingrid that she owed nobody but herself to find her happiness. That she deserved it. But she bit her tongue, for she feared Ingrid would not particularly enjoy Dorothea’s opinion of her father. 

A noble bemoaning his lost fortune sitting on land he could work, estates he could sell to live his days having food in his belly. But no, he wished for old fame and glory, so much so that his daughter could not think of anything but her duty to one day surrender herself to a stranger with the right coin in his pocket. 

“When that day comes, you will have to choose between your duty and your heart,” Dorothea said, and because she was weak, she gently cupped Ingrid’s face in her hand. Her cheeks were rough from the wind nipping at it, when she soared up in the skies, and slightly damp from Dorothea’s washcloth. She tilted Ingrid’s head and held her gaze. “And I will be there, your most loyal friend, reminding you to choose the right thing.”

“Why do I feel like that’s not going to be my duty?” Ingrid whispered, tongue darting out to wet her lips, so pink and distracting. 

Dorothea swallowed heavily, and stepped back before she could do something stupid, taking her hands off her friend’s face, forcing an airy little laugh. “Why, because you know me, Ingrid!” Dorothea turned hastily, busying her hands with the basin, emptying it and wringing the cloth to hang it to dry as she willed her heart to settle. 

“Dorothea?” Ingrid asked quietly.

“Yes, Handsome?”

That did make Ingrid quirk a little half-smile. “Now that’s one I haven’t heard yet.” And best part, one she didn’t seem to mind. Ingrid sighed softly, rubbing her hands on her thighs. “I … thank you,” she said, sounding flustered. 

“Whatever for?” Dorothea dried her hands on a towel and decided it was safe to be closer to Ingrid again, settling on her bed next to her, in a very respectable distance. “I was the one who forced you through this, so if anything -”

“No, I mean -” Ingrid sighed. “Thank you for … understanding.”

“Oh.” Dorothea smiled. “Then really, nothing for. You don’t have to thank me for listening to you and caring for what you need.”

“Nobody ever really …” Ingrid’s fingers gripped her trousers again, but without the intensity from before. “Nobody ever listened and understood why I dislike make-up, and all it entails. So … for me, it’s not nothing.”

Oh. Oh … Dorothea’s heart twisted, and it soared, all in the same breath. It broke for nobody taking the time to listen to something so simple, and it soared with the honour of being trusted, of being allowed to  _ know  _ Ingrid. That was the worst part of this infatuation - it felt like Dorothea never knew Ingrid enough, understood her enough. She always ended up craving more, being closer, mattering in her life. 

She gently placed her hand on Ingrid’s, who did not pull away, but simply relaxed her nervous grip. Together, they breathed, and Dorothea’s stomach only did two somersaults before it allowed her to phrase words again. “Anytime, Ingrid. I will always listen. I promise you that much.”

Ingrid did not reply, but instead, leaned over slightly, until her temple was against Dorothea’s shoulder. She sighed, and her body relaxed, her weight resting softly against Dorothea, who may have died already, and had absolutely found herself in heaven. 

“Thank you,” Ingrid said again, the words weighted with so many emotions that Dorothea found no reply, and maybe, she did not need one. 

Together, they sat for a while, quiet and close. 

And even when Dorothea knew this could never be hers, that this was a doomed wish, she drank this moment up like a dying man, and she held on, and held on, and held on. 

**Author's Note:**

> Ingrid is, and I cannot stress this enough, actually already extremely gay for Dorothea, and being understood and supported like this made her suppressed lesbian heart implode. 
> 
> As someone who's NB/possibly transmasc after having the lesbian label as my homebase all this time, it was nice to vent all my confusing make-up feelings out. I am both Doro and Ingrid in this so it was interesting to explore what make-up can mean to people and how they clash (and find an understanding! Fuck 'not like other girls' mentality!). Societal expectations and breaking/reverting them is so weird and such a wibbly-wobbly gray area to muddle through ...  
Oversharing aside, cheers y'all /puts on sunglasses and skates out sipping capri sun


End file.
